


Promotion by Fire

by Styfas



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Carnivale happened, Gen, reference to character deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:35:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28837890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Styfas/pseuds/Styfas
Summary: When Harry Goodsir considers all that has transpired in the last thirty-or-so hours, Jacko’s death now seems relatively trivial.Harry Goodsir, alone in the Terror sick bay and deeply troubled.  Lt. Hodgson walks in.Terror Bingo:  Angst
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12
Collections: The Terror Bingo





	Promotion by Fire

**Author's Note:**

> I don't generally *try* to do angst, hopefully this is close enough. 
> 
> Thanks, as always, to [Drac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drac), who introduced me to The Terror in the first place, and who are the second to read my fics (after me) - and did some great beta-suggestions on this one. AND for this one, serving as Hodgson Character Consultants. They deserve every gold thing there is! 🏅🏆
> 
> Disclaimers: I do/don't know any of the real-life people mentioned in this fic. RIP to all. I do not own any of the characters as depicted in AMC The Terror; those belong to AMC, writers, producers, directors, actors, and anyone else who had anything to do with the series. 
> 
> I've also borrowed A LOT of storyline - 🧡 with LOVE 🧡 - that we already know about - to serve as background for the scenario I've come up with in this fic. I did not make up the background scenarios. Obviously.
> 
> Speaking of which, this is fiction, and I am not making money from this.

When Harry Goodsir considers all that has transpired in the last thirty-or-so hours, Jacko’s death now seems relatively trivial.

Yet that’s where all the misery began – starting yesterday, on Erebus. Jacko had passed after several weeks of his feeding her the contents of Goldner Tins. Harry had hoped she would pass quietly, but his handwritten notes in his experiment journal portended that she would suffer horribly. For five consecutive days he had written in his journal: _Agress. Behaviour_ **.** And only three days ago: _Self Harm_. Indeed, when he was called down to the orlop deck on the last day of her life, he heard banging and screeching, and saw her blood on the wooden ledge in the storage room. When he slowly opened the storage room door, he found himself the unfortunate witness of her final death throes.

Once the commotion in the orlop had cleared, Harry took the body to a secluded area of the ship for inspection. He lifted back Jacko’s lips to see blackened gums, confirming what he had feared: lead poisoning. Not just for her, but also for the men of the expedition.

Next, there was his conversation with Dr. Stanley regarding his experiment and its results. Dr. Stanley discounted Harry’s concerns, saying that alerting command was not for Harry to decide. _I will do, you will not_ , he had said, as if cautioning a child. 

Captain Crozier made his appearance at Carnivale that night, having recovered from his illness: a good thing, but it ended up not being a cause for immediate celebration. Rather, the Captain had a sobering announcement to make: the men would be abandoning the ships. Harry was already wondering how he’d manage, since he wasn’t good at hauling sledges; a fact made painfully evident when he tried hauling with Lieutenant Gore’s sledge party, _May the Lieutenant rest in peace._

With the captain’s news having barely sunk into Harry’s consciousness, Lady Silence, whom he never expected see again, staggered into the tent, bleeding profusely from her mouth. While he was on his knees inspecting the inside of her mouth which no longer had a tongue, another unfathomable horror took place.

Dr. Stanley – the man who had always displayed an air of aloof superiority and self-assurance – set himself on fire. 

Before that had registered fully in Harry’s mind, he heard men yelling that the tents were on fire. In the mayhem and mass panic, Harry was able to get Lady Silence and himself out of the tent and to safety. He learned later that Dr. McDonald had been killed in the fire. Now it would be just he and Dr. Peddie. One medical person for each ship. It would be difficult, but such was the situation. 

The tents had burned to the ground. During daylight hours, bodies were collected and lined up. Harry’s instincts had served him well at that juncture. He sent Lady Silence to Terror under Royal Marine escort and took charge by sending half of the men to Terror, half to Erebus.

Things went from horrible to worse. He was informed that Dr. Peddie had perished – leaving Harry, an assistant surgeon, anatomist, and naturalist, as the only person left to treat patients on two ships; the only person to tend to the immediate burns and chest pains, the passing ailments, and the recurring maladies – including the lead poisoning that now no one knew about but him. From four medical men down to one. Thankfully, Mr. Bridgens offered to help, and so went back to Erebus. 

The numbness that Harry had felt at that moment might have been a good thing, in retrospect. It couldn’t have been a time to indulge in panic, anxiety, or mourning. There was work to be done, and so many who needed help. He’d need to attend to Lady Silence and make sure that she’d be properly berthed on Terror. As for the men, there were burns to be treated, and God knew what other injuries.

Duty had motivated Harry to walk back to Terror. He didn’t remember the full journey; it was a blur in his mind – but he reached his destination and did whatever he could, efficiently and without complaint. When there was finally a lull in patients arriving in the sick bay, he thought briefly of napping – and then decided it would be a selfish thing to do. Knowing that Mr. Bridgens was out of his element, Harry went to assist on Erebus.

He returned to Terror, wobbly-legged and light-headed, only to be greeted by another wave of patients standing outside the sick bay, awaiting his return. Shaken with guilt, he offered his apologies, and all of the men assured him that they understood. Still, that didn’t make his situation any better. Through weariness, hunger pangs, and thirst, he continued to do his duty, administering tonics and applying plasters, cleaning and dressing wounds, and offering suggestions for follow-up care until the last man left the sick bay. 

Alone. Finally. Silence.

Harry had expected that silence would be a comfort after so much noise and activity. Instead, he goes inside his own head, reliving the events of Carnivale and its aftermath. He dwells on his doubts about whether he’ll be capable of doing the job that lies before him. He’s not properly trained for it, he doesn’t feel qualified, and he’s not prepared.

Work. That’s the solution for taking his mind off things. There are surgical instruments to be put away, basins and bowls to be wiped clean, cloths to be rolled up, tins of salves to be stowed in drawers, and medicine bottles to be shelved.

Harry sets to work, shuffling slowly about the room while taking shallow, weary breaths; he may as well be sleepwalking. At intervals he pauses to place a hand on a cabinet, a chair, or a table, to rest for a few seconds and to keep his balance. If he allows himself to close his eyes for more than a second or two, he might crumble in exhaustion.

With blurred vision, he surveys the room once more. One bottle remains to be shelved; Laudanum, and it rests at the corner edge of a worktable. He has no recollection of how it ended up there, or why he hadn’t picked it up earlier. He takes a step forward, and with a weak and unsteady hand, reaches for the bottle. His fingertips barely make contact when he trips against the table leg, which results in his inadvertently knocking the bottle to the floor where it shatters, the contents spreading in a small puddle beneath shards of glass.

“Damn! No!” he shouts. “You careless, _incompetent_ …” In a frustrated frenzy, Harry clenches his teeth and swipes angry arms across the surface of the table, sending bowls flying and clattering, while cloths end up strewn about the floor in clumps of disarray. He drags himself along the edge of the bare table before finally collapsing into its chair. He’d thought it impossible to shed tears while suffering this much fatigue, but they do come. He slumps down, his head against his forearms, and succumbs. He weeps for anyone and everyone who has passed on since the expedition set sail, and especially for all those who have perished during Carnivale. For the first time since the expedition set sail, he weeps for himself: How can he continue to help others if he can’t control his own emotions?

Finally he’s able to sit upright again. After wiping tears away, his gaze falls to the floor where bottle, bowls, and cloths lie like corpses. He closes his eyes and concentrates on gathering the resolve needed to stand and clean up the mess.

Upon opening his eyes, he catches sight of a blue uniform, waist-level. Taking his gaze slowly upward, he sees Lieutenant Hodgson standing in the doorway of the sick bay.

Hodgson looks about the room, all bewilderment, and then focuses directly on Harry. “What happened here?”

Harry suppresses his urge to groan at seeing the Lieutenant. Instead, he sighs – perhaps too loudly. Of all the people who could have shown up at this moment, he gets Lieutenant Hodgson. Why couldn’t it have been Little or Irving? He drops his gaze to the table and ekes out an intentionally cryptic response. “A bottle of Laudanum fell. Then, bowls. Also, cloths.” 

“Yes, I can see that, but how-”

Manners: where are they? He should be showing respect to a superior officer. Harry swallows hard, then pushes his palms hard against the tabletop and attempts to stand up. “Forgive me, Sir, I-“

“No need to stand on my account,” Hodgson says. “Please, stay seated. My God, you look terrible!”

Harry has just enough air in him to emit a wry chuckle. 

“Have you not slept?”

“Not since before Carnivale. My apologies, Lieutenant.”

“For not sleeping?”

“For being disrespectful when you came in.” He continues at a slow, measured pace. “I’ll tell you exactly what happened here. I knocked that bottle of Laudanum to the floor in a moment of clumsiness. Then something inside me snapped. I lost my temper and…” he gestures wearily to the mess on the floor. “This. All of this. I was… overwhelmed.”

“I’ll fetch Mr. Jopson. He’ll help tidy things up.” Hodgson takes a step to leave.

“I did this, and I’ll take care of it myself. Sir.” 

“If you’re certain.”

“It’s better that I do it. I know where everything belongs.” 

Convinced by Harry’s logic, Hodgson nods. “Very well.”

Harry remembers his duties. “Pardon my not asking when you walked in, but do you need medical attention?”

“No, that’s not why I’m here at all. Captain Crozier sent me here to summon you to a command meeting, Dr. Goodsir.“

“I’m not a doctor,” Harry moans. “There are no doctors here.” His voice quivers as he fights back another wave of tears. “ _We have_ _no doctors_.”

“But we’re quite fortunate to have _you_.”

“One medical professional for two ships – and one who wasn’t specifically trained as a doctor? How is that fortunate?” Harry sniffs and wipes his eyes. 

“No, you misunderstand me. I meant that you’re alive, of course. You’ve survived.”

Harry nods: it’s the best response he can muster. 

Hodgson stiffens his posture and goes back to business. “The command meeting will commence in a half an hour’s time. There will be much to discuss, considering recent events and the events to come.”

“Walking,” Harry says, numb. 

“We do what we must,” Hodgson says simply.

“I’ve never been to a command meeting.”

“Doctors often attend.”

“Promotion by fire,” Harry says, his voice creaking. He checks for a response from Hodsgon. There is none; his attempt at humour was totally lost on the Lieutenant. Just as well: the comment was in poor taste and fueled by a sleep-deprived mind. 

“Excuse my asking, but considering you haven’t slept, I wonder if you’ve had anything to eat or drink. Have you?”

“Only water – and not much of that.”

“We usually have some sort of refreshment at the meetings. My hope is that this meeting will be no exception. You’ll take my portion of whatever edibles may be served.”

“You’re too kind, Sir – but It isn’t necessary.”

“It _is_ necessary. You need sustenance.”

“I can’t ask you to-” 

“I’m telling you… It’s an _order_ ,” Hodgson sputters. “And it’s imperative that you get some sleep after the meeting. You’ll do so.”

“I will.” Somehow, even if he has to sleep sitting up in a chair in the sickbay, he’ll find time. He finally labours up from his chair and leans against the table, steadying himself with both hands. “Would you please tell the captain that I’ll be there as soon as possible? I won’t be late.”

“Yes, of course.” 

“And Lieutenant, if I may...”

“What is it?”

“May we keep what happened here – what I _did_ here – in confidence, between us? I’m aware that I can’t rightly ask it of you, but… I am asking.”

“Mr. Goodsir, we are all only human.”

“I understand.” Hodgson’s answer could be a yes, or it could be a no. If he tells the captain, so be it. “Thank you.” 

“For what? What have I done?”

“You arrived when I needed most to see someone who wasn’t going to be a patient.” It’s a bold admission, and he realizes it too late. He meets the Lieutenant’s uncomfortable gaze and tells another truth to soften the moment. “And you did kindly lend an ear.”

“Then I’m pleased to have helped. We’ll see you shortly in the Great Cabin, Mr. Goodsir.”

“Doctor,” Harry says. “It’s… Doctor now.”

“Good. Chin up.” Hodgson offers as much of a smile as can be afforded under the circumstances, then quickly leaves the room.

For all of the awkwardness during this encounter – on his part, as well as the lieutenant’s – Harry feels sufficiently comforted. He would’ve never expected that Hodgson could be the one to help him through this episode, but now he’s grateful that he was. 

Lieutenant Hodgson may well make an excellent captain someday, Harry thinks. A captain shows concern and compassion for his men, sometimes making sacrifices in the process. A captain offers sound advice and does his best to lift spirits. Hodgson has done all these things for him today.

Harry will be sure to thank him later. Specifically, he’ll thank the lieutenant for his simple words regarding abandoning the ships: _We do what we must._ Those words now serve as inspiration for Harry to make peace with himself and adjust to his new role.

“I do what I must,” he says to himself. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading.


End file.
